


Beneath the Skin

by TellMeNoAgain



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Energy Play, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:23:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27466381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: Stiles wants to try out a new magik technique he's learning.And honestly?  I want to be nice to Derek, who definitely deserves some good things, poor traumawolf.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 19
Kudos: 225





	Beneath the Skin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orchidaexa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orchidaexa/gifts).



> Special thanks to Orchidaexa for getting me into Teen Wolf fandom in the first place. Look, possum, I was nice to your traumababy!
> 
> The cheer-readers in the TW section of the WriterBuddies Discord server have no parallel- they are supreme and superb!
> 
> Much appreciation to mindwiped for going outside your fandom to beta in this one.
> 
> All remaining errors (and there might be some- my tenses were MESSED UP with this one, folks), remain mine.

“-so, can I?” asked Stiles, his head tilted to look up at Derek with that beseeching look that did so much damage to Derek’s self-control.

Unfortunately, Derek hadn’t been paying attention, so he had to ask, bluntly, “Can you- _what_ , Stiles?”

Stiles spun, his entire body full of exasperated energy. “This?! This is why I can’t- this is- _dammit_ , if everyone would just _listen to me the first time_ , we’d all be so much happier and safer, I swear to God. Gods. And goddesses. I swear to pantheons. All of them.”

Derek watched Stiles blow off steam and when it seemed to settle into something approaching conversation mode, he asked, “Can you, _what_ , Stiles?” again, as deadpan as he could manage, which was fairly deadpan.

“Can I do- the thing, with the auras, with you, tonight?” asked Stiles slowly, like he was speaking to an idiot. Derek stiffened, face pulling in disgust, and Stiles reacted to even that small flinch of disagreement, soothing, “Sorry, sorry, I meant, for my magic development, I was saying, you’ve got an aura, I’ve got an aura, and without making it sound like I’m hitting on you or implying you should let me touch anything but your aura, _can I do some aura work with you tonight?”_

“Yes,” said Derek simply. It sounded harmless enough.

Stiles’s whole face burst into that happy sunshine smile. “Yes! Good! My house- Dad goes to work at like 7, so, 8? Please?”

“Yes,” agreed Derek. Stiles beamed at him and bounded away, as full of energy as a puppy, calling, “Thanks! Bring pizza?”

So now Derek was bringing pizza.

To Stiles’s parentless house.

At 8 PM.

On a Friday.

Derek frowned as he stalked out of the high school parking lot and towards the woods. Stiles had texted to say it was important, but it was just- another one of Stiles’s not-a-date, not-dating-here, no-attempt-at-dating weird requests that always ended up with them staring at each other over food until someone screamed in the distance or one of the pack called with a frantic request for aid. Tonight would be no different.

But at least he got to pick the pizza, this time.

How in the world could Stiles even stomach pineapple with pepperoni? A mystery for the ages. 

~~~

When Derek got there, the awkwardness commenced. Stiles’s lips were distracting, because Derek caught Stiles staring at him with his lips parted, as if entranced, twice. Derek gulped down the pizza- well, wolfed it down would be more accurate, if more than a little ridiculous- and tried not to think about Stiles’s lips because it was wrong. It was wrong, and it was just the wolf in him, that loved the scent of the kid. Well. Not kid. Mostly a man. The wolf recognized the manhood that society wasn’t giving the guy, could smell the difference on the days when Stiles had recently proven how well established his manhood was, again.

Savored the difference, actually.

His inner wolf _loved_ how Stiles smelled, with the scent of his semen thick in the air nearest to him. His inner wolf wanted to get closer, lick and taste and-

“Well,” said Stiles brightly and optimistically, interrupting Derek’s awkward staring silence and startling him back to reality. “Okay, so, I think I’ve got the hang of this aura stuff, on my end, like, how to keep it clean and stuff, but I need a partner to work with to help with, like, strengthening it and really visualizing the barrier of it, and like _pushing_ the barrier outward, okay?”

“Oh-kay,” drawled Derek skeptically, feeling confused. “So you need me to-”

“Mostly, just, uh, let me not-touch you? But kind of touch you?” offered Stiles, his body giving a full body twitch as if he were acknowledging the stupidity of that non-clarification. “It’s going to make sense, I promise, once I start. Can you, uh, lay down flat, on, shit- come upstairs, I think my bed will be big enough for you to lay flat.”

Derek. Laying on Stiles’s bed. Yeah. Not happening. Derek rolled his eyes and kicked the coffee table to clear room, sitting on the floor and glaring up at Stiles.

“Yes, or- or that. Yes,” babbled Stiles, his heart racing just slightly faster. “The floor is fine. It’s great, actually, because you can stretch out. Can you, uh, stretch out?”

Derek raised an eyebrow and cautiously laid down, ready for traps. Ready for anything from Stiles, actually. He was a constant source of confusion and exasperation.

Stiles lifted Derek’s head roughly and shoved a soft pillow underneath it, and that was probably a metaphor, Derek considered, settling into the pillow and letting his wolf enjoy the scent of Stiles that wafted from it. He looked up at Stiles with an expression just short of a glare.

“Sourwolf,” commented Stiles with a grin. “Okay, are you, like, comfortable?”

“I’m on a floor,” Derek reminded him.

“Right. But like, you’re not _uncomfortable?”_ pressed Stiles, strangely concerned, his face wrinkling with the force of his intent, eyes attempting to puzzle through Derek’s non-existent body language. 

“I’m fine,” Derek informed him. “So what do I do?”

“You just- be you, and I’ll, uh, engage my aura, and try to touch yours,” Stiles said. “And then you just, think _you_ thoughts, kind of, and we’ll- we’ll see. What happens.”

“Okay,” agreed Derek.

“You can close your eyes,” offered Stiles, only to back off with a hasty, “or not, you can keep them open,” when Derek glared at him suspiciously. “It helped me, at first, to like, get a sense for the aura, just beneath my skin, and to _push_ it out.”

“You pushed your aura out of your skin?” asked Derek deadpan. 

“I know how it sounds!” yelped Stiles defensively, waving his hands as he settled next to Derek’s torso. “I know- I know how it sounds!”

“Do you?” demanded Derek, mostly just to keep Stiles jumping and yelping. He was uncomfortably vulnerable, his stomach exposed, as Stiles crouched beside him. It brought up- he swallowed- bad memories. Bad things happened to a wolf on their back. Bad things. Not good. “Do I have to be on my back?” he asked, suddenly, curious.

“What? No,” said Stiles, clearly confused. “No, go ahead, flip- you can- it’s about the auras and it’s literally beneath your skin everywhere.”

“Right,” said Derek, heaving himself over.

“You are just a ridiculous amount of muscle and tight shirt,” Stiles murmured, before grinning and saying, like it had been a joke, “you know that, right, big guy?”

Derek looked back at him. Whoever the kid thought he was fooling, it wasn’t Derek.

Derek wasn’t a fool. Not anymore. And the kid was still- legally- a kid. No matter what Derek’s inner wolf howled.

“Hoooo-kay,” drawled Stiles, and then he cracked his knuckles. “I just need you to, like, lie there. Still. Breathe and stuff. Think about your body, about being in your body, about how heavy your body feels.” 

There was silence again, which was suspicious because silence around Stiles was actually _not possible_ unless the guy was passed out, in Derek’s experience.

Derek twisted his head on the pillow and peered at Stiles. 

Stiles’s lips were twisted in a slight frown, his face puckered in concentration. His hands rested naturally on his thighs, and Derek listened to his heart begin to slow and slow, until he was very clearly almost at rest. Derek closed his eyes as Stiles’s hands reached out, feeling like it was only fair that they _both_ go into this with eyes tightly shut.

He could hear the rustle of Stiles’s clothing and then nothing- just the rustle and Stiles’s even breathing, until the hairs on the back of his neck reported someone was _almost_ touching his back, the heat barely noticeable through the shirt.

“It’s not working,” muttered Stiles resentfully. “I don’t- here, let me try- don’t freak out-” and Derek watched, wide eyed, as Stiles shifted his hands to Derek’s bare arm, ghosting them just above the skin, the heat from his hands hovering just above Derek’s skin.

Stiles’s hands slid down while Stiles licked his lips and leaned forward, tense, the hands hovering a hair’s breadth above the skin, cautious and precise as they traveled down Derek’s arm to his hand and back up, so slowly. So impossibly _slow_ , for Stiles, who did everything with a frenetic energy. The hands made three more circuits, up and down, over Derek’s open flesh, until Stiles whispered, “Almost, almost, got it, got it, almost-”

Derek gasped at the exact same time as Stiles, both of them shocked at the sensation as something moved beneath Derek’s skin. Something invisible to Derek’s gaze, but so clearly _there_ , in the space between them. “Yesssss,” hissed Stiles in an eager breath, his face beatific even with his eyes shuttered closed in frowning concentration. “You feel that, Sourwolf?”

Derek grunted, watching Stiles play the sensation from fingertip to fingertip, never touching Derek’s skin but somehow _touching Derek_ anyway. “Here, here,” said Stiles eagerly, tracing his fingers back up to Derek’s elbow, tracing them there and trailing bright sparks of excitement in his path, along Derek’s _arm_ , how did he- how could he- it felt invigorating, like electricity, and thrillingly dangerous like exposed wiring. “Here, I can- I want- can we- your shirt,” babbled Stiles, and Derek sighed but nodded agreement, shocked when Stiles gasped, “I _felt_ that, I felt- you’re okay with it, with losing the shirt?”

His eyes popped open and peered down at Derek in concern.

“Yes,” said Derek simply, reaching down and sliding the shirt from his body.

“Okay, okay, yes,” agreed Stiles nodding. “Okay, yes, good. Just, just re-center yourself, remember how heavy your body is, right? How heavy it is-” He closed his eyes again and ran his hands slowly up Derek’s arm, that same little not-touch as before, slow and stimulating, soothing and stirring. 

But it wasn’t heavy, at all, Derek wanted to tell him. His body wasn’t any heavier than it ever was. No, the sensation was something else.

 _Reach for Stiles_ , he told that feeling beneath his skin, that itch, that pull, and it leapt away from him, connecting again with Stiles.

They gasped again, in unison.

“You did it,” Stiles crowed excitedly. “We did it- we’re doing it, it’s really- you’re so awesome, Derek!”

And that, too, slid into Derek, the joy and excitement and victory that Stiles was feeling, gliding against Derek’s skin with every pass of his hands. “I’m going to- your back,” said Stiles, shifting up to sit on his knees, drawing his hands- and that sensation, up Derek’s arm and then spreading his hands- creating _two_ spots of sensation, and Derek _was not prepared for that_.

“Stiles,” he gasped, shocked.

“I know,” grunted Stiles. “I feel- I feel it too. I’m- I’m trying to be- not to push, not to pull- just- just let it settle, a moment, ‘s’called a channel, it’s a- I’m seeking stuff, to practice- clearing out-stuff, ‘s gonna be okay, buddy.”

“Clearing out what kind of stuff,” grunted Derek through clenched teeth. The sensation of fire between Stiles’s two outspread hands was painfully close to the burning sensation found in every single one of his worst nightmares.

“Oh, uh, dense, um, patches, and you have- you have a lot,” mused Stiles. “Which, makes sense, yeah, right? Given- everything. It makes- you should have- just, can you relax?”

“You’re burning me,” spat Derek resentfully. “It’s- it’s like fire, a line of-”

“I’m what?” yelped Stiles, pulling his hands back. Immediately, the line of fire disappeared. Derek twisted to glare at Stiles, who looked back wide-eyed.

“It felt like fire, from one hand to the other,” explained Derek tersely. “It hurt.”

“It shouldn’t- shouldn’t do that,” stammered Stiles. “It _shouldn’t_ hurt, Derek.”

“Well, do it better, I guess, because it did,” grumbled Derek, resettling on the pillow. 

“Do it better,” muttered Stiles under his breath. He took a deep breath and let it go slowly, and then leaned forward, the heat of his skin once more kissing along the surface of Derek’s back without ever touching it. Derek felt his concentration leap to those points of non-contact, leap there and then press up, trying to reach for- to reach- reach-

 _There._

They gasped again, for the third time, and Derek felt Stiles sway forward, could imagine the fascinated look on his face as he ran his single hand up and down Derek’s back, hovering slowly and almost serenely, clearly enjoying the way Derek had to shift, had to lift up just a little, when Stiles lifted his hand, had to arch into the non-contact, chasing the warmth and the- the tingle, the connection.

“Wow, your aura is, like, dense, right here,” said Stiles quietly, his hand hovering over Derek’s tattoo. He said it like it was a bad thing, like a dense patch in an aura was something to be dealt with, and Derek wasn’t surprised that he had denseness around the tattoo. He could feel it, some days, burning there, a constant reminder of everything he had lost and how tightly he had to remain controlled, how tightly he had to cage the wolf so that he doesn’t curl around his pain and never move, never act, never get up. “I’m- I’m going to try the thing, two hands, the channel, the- but I’ll dial it down, way down.”

Derek nodded and tried not to brace himself as Stiles leaned up on his knees, his whole body arching over Derek’s. “Okay- just- just a trickle,” hissed Stiles, nonsensically. Derek flinched the minute the other hand came in contact with that- that same tingling connection, but the line between the two hands became not a branding flame, but rather a gentle buzzing.

Derek’s mind began to wander almost immediately- his mother’s smile and his father’s shout of pride- Laura’s teasing grin- his favorite pair of shoes, the jeans that he’d worn until the edges frayed- his silly wolf stuffie- the way Dad had read him Little Red Riding Hood and Mom had muttered “ _damn propaganda”_ every time- chasing Laura on the school playground at midnight, the moon bright above them as they yipped and yelped and did all the things the teachers said were wrong and bad and naughty and unsafe.

He felt the yearning build and shifted his head, arching his neck so that his eyes were pressed into the pillow.

“You okay?” breathed Stiles.

“Yeah,” whispered Derek, because the hush that had settled between the two of them felt too heavy, suddenly, for anything louder. How long had passed, while he thought about his long-lost family, about that old life? The air felt settled and hushed around the two of them, the buzzing against his skin almost audible. He took a deep gulp of air, and then another, and then told Stiles, “‘m fine.”

The other man had no way of knowing if it was the truth or a lie, after all. 

“Okay,” agreed Stiles, and then the silence fell again, and although he tried, Derek couldn’t stop the memories, now that they’d started to flow- tossing spaghetti in the pot as a pup, the hot water splashing up and Cora yelping, “He did it wrong!” only to be shushed by Uncle Peter’s calm and serene, “I don’t think so,” making Derek’s heart skip because Uncle Peter’s approval was harder to earn than anything, in those days. He remembered the way Uncle Peter’s smile would make all three of the pups wriggle with glee because the man so rarely- he always- the memory faded- to be replaced with the smell of Kate’s shampoo, a shock that made Derek snort.

“Shhh,” soothed Stiles. “Let me just- shhh, Derek, just-”

The tingling sensation increased until Derek had to roll his shoulders, feeling again the buzz of the tattoo needle, Laura holding his hand, muttering, “This had better work, Der, we can’t keep-” but it _had_ , of course. It had worked, and that full moon he’d been able to control the shift, hadn’t curled up whining and miserable into a little ball of- of- grief, of nothing but howling grief that a wolf couldn’t let loose. They’d burnt the tattoo so deeply, but first, first had come the buzzing bite of the ink-laying tattoo, humming as it pierced his skin, hours and hours of buzzing and humming, followed by the burn of the flame in his sister’s calm hand.

“Shhh,” whispered Stiles. “It’s okay, you’re here, I’m here. You’re safe, Derek. You survived it all, you can do this, give this- give me-”

Derek’s inner wolf surged, flattening him to the floor under Stiles’s words, abject in his surrender and submission to Stiles’s request. Derek realized he’d been panting and leaking tears for some time, the pillow soaked against his skin. “Down, pup,” he remembered his Dad commanding at bedtime every night, one hand between Derek’s shoulderblades to hold him still, and this was like that, but the connection and pull under Stiles’s palm weren’t _pressure_ , they were electric _shock_.

The smell of smoke had grown stronger, and he couldn’t remember- couldn’t- when did he start to smell the smoke- when- Kate’s shampoo and the feel of her wet folds enveloping him as he thrust- the smell of smoke and charred meat-

“Shhh,” soothed Stiles. “You’re safe, you’re here, I’m- I’m-”

“I did it,” whimpered Derek, trying to submit under the glow of the hand, to confess, to tell someone _everything_ , for once, and hold nothing back. “I- I- if I hadn’t been-”

“Shhh,” Stiles said, his voice full of compassion and the eerie echo of command as he continued, “give it to me, Der.”

That was- no one- no one called him that- no one- that was- Derek’s thoughts shattered against the rock of that old casual nickname, unheard since the fire. The fire, that he- he caused, he- the- “I did it, I-” he told Stiles desperately, realizing that the words were hard to choke out because he was sobbing into the pillow, sobbing and arching his back up, up into the hands and the burning, tingling sensation. “I-”

“No,” said Stiles firmly, and then, again, eagerly, “No, no, no. No. You didn’t, Der, none of it, none of- Kate is _evil_ , Derek, she’s twisted and wrong and you’ve done nothing, you’ve-”

“Paige,” gasped Derek, as the memory of the scent of her blood fills his nostrils, shaking him.

“You were supposed to leave her like that?” snorted Stiles, and Derek could just picture his eyeroll.

“I convinced-” began Derek, only to be cut off by Stiles’s blunt, “You were a kid. Ennis was the adult. Ennis made a decision. You’re not that persuasive, Der, I know you. I wasn’t there, but I _know_ you.”

Derek didn’t bother to bite back the sob that escaped. Stiles clucked his tongue and leaned forward, whispering, “Almost- _almost-_ ”

Derek squirmed- there was no better word for it, nothing to make it less awful, less pup-like- under Stiles’s outstretched, buzzing hands. “I need-” he gasped, “I’m not-” but he didn’t know what he wanted to say.

“Just work through it, _breathe_ ,” commanded Stiles, his voice again thick with that strange power, so strange. 

Derek could feel his toes dig into the carpet, ripping and tearing threads.

Stiles wasn’t safe, Derek was- Derek didn’t have _control_ , anymore, he was slipping, slipping and sliding, his wolf surging forward, nails and feet clawing at the rug, hips bunching _up_ while his shoulders flattened under the burning sensation that _grew_ , now, grew until it was the same rope of fire and flame and pain that had rested there before. Abruptly, Stiles grunted, “ _Breathe!_ ”

Derek drew a breath against the tightness in his chest and back, and there was a sensation of _snapping_ , deep within him, _snapping_ that made him choke and gasp and dissolve- the tension gone, completely subsumed by the tingling warmth that spread everywhere just beneath his skin. 

Or maybe just above his skin- maybe just- Stiles’s hands were making passes, shoulder to shoulder, hovering passes of not touching, the burning long gone in a sensation of _well-being_ so total and complete it made Derek dizzy. He had lost track of time, he knows that- the sounds outside were deep midnight noises, not, not early evening. Somewhere, he lost- he lost time, somehow. He could smell nothing but Stiles, Stiles and the faint hints of the sheriff, too, and Scott was here, last week, and-

“Shhh, as long as you want, buddy,” said Stiles, his voice crackling not with energy, but with fatigue. “Can do this all night, Der.”

“Do what?” asked Derek thickly. The pillow- the pillow was still faintly damp but no longer wet against his skin. He felt loose, and boneless, and the posture- the feeling- of submission to Stiles was probably all wrong, probably- but he couldn’t help it. It felt good, to lay there and arch up into Stiles’s touch, to want to move where Stiles wanted him to go, to feel that gentle buzzing warmth shift everywhere on his back, on his arms, the feeling of Stiles-ness creeping along just below his skin.

“Fix some stuff, with your aura,” said Stiles at last, in a voice that was more croak than comeback, for once. A voice that sounded so tired Derek marveled at it. Derek felt so _good,_ laying there like that, so warm and good and energized. “You were all, uh, bunched up, in a patch, and I- um, released it. You. I think. Do you feel- uh, better?”

Derek turned his head and realized he can feel the wolf, just under his skin, shocked at how unchained he’s let it get, how uncontrolled, shocked at how-

“Der,” whispered Stiles, his own voice shocked, “your eyes.”

“M’eyes?” asked Derek thicky, completely and entirely confused.

“They’re yellow,” said Stiles, lifting one hand as if in shock, to hover it above Derek’s cheek. There was no pulling, tingling sensation, from that hand, not immediately, but the longer he held it there, the more the sensation increased, until Derek was panting and gasping, again, feeling the heat from Stiles’s hand cup his cheek and slide in a line down his neck and spine to where Stiles’s other hand still rested. “Der, your eyes are _yellow_ ,” Stiles whispered again, urgently. “You- you gave it up- you’re- all of it! I never- I didn’t- the book said-”

“Said,” agreed Derek, closing his eyes, enjoying the warmth of that line between Stiles’s two hands. 

“Oh, man, it’s so hard not to call you kitten right now, you know that, right?” asked Stiles quietly. “You’re like- you’re so soft, Derek, I can feel it, I can feel you, you’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?”

Derek considered that concept muzzily. Would he let Stiles, the man who was giving him this feeling, this _good-all-over_ feeling, do _anything_ to him?

 _Yessssss_ , howled his inner wolf.

_Okay, then._

He nodded, just a little, and caught a spark against his skin, a spark that felt so _Stiles_ , so- bright, like Stiles was bright, cheerful, like Stiles was cheerful, hot, like Stiles was hot. His hips rubbed unconsciously against the rug, seeking more goodness, more good, hot sensations.

“Oh, uh, Der, we probably shouldn’t- you- I mean, you go ahead, I guess, you deserve it,” mumbled Stiles, his low voice a caress against Derek’s ears, the reluctant permission everything Derek had ever wanted to earn from anybody. 

“Deserve,” he rumbled back at Stiles, shifting his head again, arching up into the single hand resting just above the skin of his tattoo, hissing as Stiles shifted beside him, Stiles’s body heat swaying away.

“Yeah, you deserve it, buddy,” encouraged Stiles. “So you just- you go ahead, ‘s’been hours of me being mean to you, you just- God, you’re such a _kitten_ , how did you _hide_ this?”

Hide what, Derek wanted to ask, but instead he ground himself into the floor, enjoying the sensation of Stiles’s energy, his spark, now glowing with heat and warm and _desire_ , Derek was sure of it, sure that was _desire_ in the handprint on Derek’s back. Stiles could call him kitten or pup or Der or anything, Stiles could call him buddy or slut or- Derek would take anything, anything Stiles wanted to- just to keep Stiles _talking_ , to keep him- with the flow of that feeling just beneath Derek’s skin, with- God, he _wanted_ \- “Touch,” he begged, desperate.

“Oh, I cannot even begin to imagine how that would-” stuttered Stiles, but his hand slipped down, down Derek’s back, until Derek was bunched up, hips quivering in the air, knees bent under him as Stiles’s hand rested at the small of his back, “God, kitten, this is almost too much for me, that would- touching you there, like this? That would kill us both, probably. Maybe.”

Touching Derek _there_ , Derek’s mind latched onto, in the spate of unimportant words. Yes. God, touching him- and his mind switched quickly from his ass to his dick, unable to decide which would be better- which he’d rather- which should he beg for?

Begging.

There was a thought both Derek and his wolf agreed on. 

“Please,” he gasped, as the feeling of desire swelled, making him nothing but _want_ , God, he-

“Feedback loop,” gasped Stiles. “They said- I can’t- God, Der, sorry, sorry, I’m not trying to- can you even consent, like this? Is this- but- Jesus, I want you, I want this- and you want it, too, I can feel it, I can- fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, they said- it said you’d-”

Words. Meaningless words, to the wolf under Derek’s skin. Derek’s hands moved slowly, but they did move, clumsy on his buttons, clumsier still with the pull of the zipper.

“Oh, God, kitten, you-” grunted Stiles. “You’re- you’re actively killing me, shit, feedback is- you really want, don’t you- want me to touch you-”

“Me,” agreed Derek, and whimpered as he eased the jeans down to his thighs, his cock popping free to slap up against his stomach. “ _Please_.”

“Say my name, so I know you’re- so I can- so I know you know who’s-” babbled Stiles, and Derek breathed in, and breathed it out, the fullness of it, the way he knew the man, the man who was inside Derek, beneath his skin, flowing his good feelings everywhere inside Derek, making everything _good_ and _hot_ , right now, “ _Stiles_.”

“Fuck,” swore Stiles, and the jump from radiant desire and want to full need was shocking, Derek could feel it spread from the point of connection, the warm hand on his back the nexus, but joined by another ghosting around his jutting length, piercing through Derek’s body in a column of joyful _must-rut_.

Derek rutted into that column, feeling the bright spark of it shift through his length, slide along and inside it, and _God_ , he has never felt anything like it, never felt anything like how he could feel Stiles’s desire. It threatened to tumble him over the edge in mere moments, rutting in air, sliding through that energy, that delicious, delightful energy held between Stiles’s two hands, slicing through Derek’s body.

“God,” gasped Stiles, and then the hot desire spreading from his hands went incandescent- Derek gasped, shocked into orgasm himself, untouched, cock jerking wildly in the cool air. “Oh, gross,” complained Stiles under his next breath, and then, “Sorry, sorry, Derek, sorry, I didn’t mean to- God, I am the most unethical- that was _wrong_ , kitten.”

His hand was human-hot against the flesh of Derek’s skin. Human hot and the tingling was gone but it was still Stiles, against his skin. Derek turned, the wolf so close to the surface he could feel the shape of his joints shifting, just a little, to accommodate the beast. He bowled Stiles over, licking and lapping at Stiles’s neck, scenting how Stiles must have released his own desire, trapped still by Stiles’s clothes, wet and wild and musky and _wonderful_.

“Der,” gasped Stiles, pushing at him, but Derek’s wolf knew what he was owed, and it was this- this lick and lap and taste and flavor, this scent of Stiles’s musk. “Der, I’m _sorry_ ,” apologized Stiles, his scent tinging with embarrassment that Derek licked until it turned back into desire.

Derek knew what was owed to him, by this man he was going to mate, so he pressed Stiles back, back and down, until it was Stiles on the floor now, Derek still leaking his orgasm everywhere. Derek growled, “Strip,” and Stiles squeaked, but stripped, hands shaking with what Derek can scent is exhaustion and excitement, both. His shirt came off easily and was tossed onto the puddle of Derek’s first release carelessly, and Derek could feel the wolf howl at the thought of wrapping Stiles back up in the shirt, unwashed, covering the man with his cum. Stiles wriggled and writhed out of his jeans, kicking them off just in time for Derek to slide his knotted, leaking cock through the cooling mess of Stiles’s crotch.

“Whoa, kitten,” muttered Stiles. “You gotta- I’m not- _shit_.”

Derek knew what werewolf pheromones did to human mates, it was a long old werewolf joke that a werewolf can get whatever they want if they can get their mate close enough, provided what they want is mindless desperation. Derek also knew what he was owed, now, by this man, and so he shuffled closer and closer, rubbing his aching, sensitive cock against Stiles’s soft skin, feeling the tickle of Stiles’s pubic hairs against his length. He lowered his torso until they were almost chest to chest, covering the smaller man completely, letting his scent wash over the man he planned to take for mate, the man his wolf had _already_ taken as mate. Stiles breathed deeply and his scent shifted again as he moaned, “Oh, _God_ , I just- I just- how are you so _hot_ , what monster did I create? God, what a monster I made, Jesus, fuck me, please.”

Derek thought about that, as he glided his knot into the soft, supple skin of Stiles’s stomach. “Fuck you,” he growled slowly, rumbling the words against Stiles’s skin. 

“Yes, yes, definitely, I consent, I consented three years ago, I’ve been consenting this whole time, I promise you, Derek, please, please, I want this, please,” stammered Stiles, his body arching up to meet Derek’s slow thrusts, his cock filling.

“Too big,” huffed Derek, while the wolf within howled that _he’s owed_. 

“I can stretch it, I can stretch, I promise,” Stiles begged, his hands flying down, sliding through the marking fluid Derek had dripped and spurted onto his stomach, gliding through and gathering the drops of thick, viscous white lube and then disappearing, to make squelching noises before a little popping sound that caught Derek’s entire attention. 

“You,” growled Derek, lowly, gnawing on Stiles’s collarbone.

“Yeah, no, I can- ‘s easy,” lied Stiles. “I want it,” he confessed more truthfully. “I can take it-” with the scent and flavor of heedless, reckless hope.

“Yesss,” hissed Derek, licking up Stiles’s neck as Stiles grunted.

“Would be- can you help- oh, no, the claws,” gasped Stiles, shifting and twisting. “Here, I need-” his hands slid through the puddled marking fluid of Derek’s continuing orgasm, gathering it up and shoving it between his thighs, wetting his entire crotch in the process, and freeing the combined scent of Stiles and Derek to mingle even heavier in the air. God, his mate smelled _good_ , like that, covered in their desire.

Stiles twisted, again, and jerked, several times, and then grabbed for Derek’s hips. “Here, here,” he gasped, “Go slow, go slow, for me, please, God, I only- I can’t get the right angle, so just- go slow.”

Derek nodded, and let Stiles’s heartbeat and breathing and tension be his guide for when to draw back and slide in further- shoving through the natural resistance and clench only when Stiles was relaxed, withdrawing again until Stiles’s breathing evened out. Stiles was covered in sweat and the scent of exhausted exertion before Derek was fully seated with one last grunt.

“God, you’re in,” breathed Stiles, awed. “You’re in, you’re _inside me_ , how do you even _fit_ , Jesus, don’t move, don’t move, I can’t-”

But Derek knew what was owed him, and Stiles was _ready_ , he could feel it. He thrusted, and Stiles yelped, but relaxed into the glide and slide, Derek’s knot bumping against his entrance. Later, Derek scolded the howling wolf so close to the skin. _Later_ , they would burrow inside barely-hard and let the knot tie the three of them together. For now, he slid in and out of Stiles, the orgasm pulsing and coating the passage, making it wetter and wetter, Stiles’s trapped cock beginning to leak in matching pulses.

“What- what-” gasped Stiles. “This’s-”

“Mate,” growled Derek, biting roughly at the crook of Stiles’s shoulder. “Mine.”

“Yeah, but, I’m- this-” babbled Stiles.

Derek shut him up with a biting kiss, the way he’s _wanted_ to do for years. Stiles groaned into it, shifting himself on Derek’s cock, making Derek’s lips stretch into a smug smirk.

“Shut up,” breathed Stiles. “I’m having a religious experience here, Der, you shut the fuck up.”

Derek didn’t point out that he was not the one babbling nonsense, and thrusted hard instead. It shut Stiles up as effectively as the biting kiss, so he did it again, and again, and again, establishing a rhythm that took him from the end of one orgasm and directly into the build up for the next, as Stiles shook and cried underneath him, his so-human, so-entirely-human cock spurting release according to his own, faster rhythm. Derek continued to thrust until finally Stiles was actually crying, chest heaving, coming dry between them.

Derek rumbled, deep in his chest, and looked up, blearily, scenting the night air from the open window. It was well into the quietest part of the deepest night, now, a time when even owls perched restfully, waiting and watching, their stomachs full and heavy with the earlier attacks of the evening’s hunting. Stiles relaxed into the rumble, or maybe into the lack of rocking motion from their hips, shivering and shaking and smelling of nothing but sex and Stiles and Derek, now.

“That was- Der, you had a lot pent up there, that was _unhealthy_ ,” gasped Stiles eventually, and Derek huffed a laugh into his slick skin, the rugburn on his knees nothing to the rugburn he suspected Stiles was now sporting on his shoulders. He lapped at his mate’s collarbone in silent apology.

“What _was_ that?” he growled into Stiles’s skin.

“Just- just a cleansing, I just- you carried so much guilt, I just- cleaned it off of you,” offered Stiles, but he smelled again like guilt and lies.

“ _Just_ a cleansing?” teased Derek, certain that whatever it had been, it hadn’t been _just_ anything that simple. But also certain, it didn’t matter. He has never felt this good, and he didn’t _care_. The wolf didn’t care, either, as close to the surface as it has ever been, as close as they’d been when Derek had been young and innocent and as free from guilt as a child.

“I- what was _that_ , though, after?” accused Stiles.

“Mating,” chuckled Derek, shifting his softening length, pulling out. “So congratulations, I owe you a ring.”

“Dad’s gonna be _pissed_ ,” commented Stiles, sounding pleased. “You know he thinks I’m not gay.”

That was a human thing, Derek decided, dismissing the comment. The division of sex into categories. Wolves didn’t do that. Wolves did what felt _right_.

And nothing in the whole of Derek’s life had ever felt _this_ right, before.

“So we’re dick-married now? Wolf-married?” asked Stiles, sounding and smelling plaintively uncertain. Derek huffed. Marriage was such a _human_ concept, flawed and over complicated.

“Yes,” he said, because it was the easiest path, one that bound Stiles tighter to him, which satisfied the wolf.

“Okay,” said Stiles. “I- we need to clean up and, uh, definitely find a bed.”

Derek agreed to the plan by rolling and taking Stiles with him, draping the smaller man against his skin.

“Will it- is it always like _that_ ,” asked Stiles. He sounded somehow eager despite the obvious exhaustion.

“I don’t know,” Derek reminded him. “It is for us, so far.”

Stiles snorted.

~~~

“Okay, ew, I have to say it,” complained Lydia sharply, her eyes narrowed to slits as she glared over at them. “The whole smelling-like-a-locker-room-inside-a-bordello thing is bad enough, but the touchy feely is actively the worst part of you two hooking up.”

Derek didn’t correct her, because Stiles has become, in fact, hooked into Derek, a thousand small hooks beneath his flesh, anchoring him, giving his soul guidelines through the world, these days, every single decision balanced against the question _but will it be good for **us**? _

Stiles’s fingertips traced a cross just above the skin on the nape of Derek’s neck, gentle and soothing as he gave some sharp retort back to Lydia. A retort that made her eyes go wide and her mouth purse, her mind clearly racing for the next arrow to fling in their neverending snap and snarl banter. That spark between them- the tingling pull of _Stiles_ that drew Derek out from beneath his own skin to mingle with his mate- leapt, and Derek was soothed by the message Stiles spread down his spine with the smallest of motions.

 _Mine, mine, mine_.

He could never have enough of this connection, soul-to-soul, with his mated, exasperating, exhausting man. But Lydia’s wrong- the connecting they did as much as possible, every moment they could has nothing to do with _touch._

No. Their connection was just above the skin, and Stiles didn’t have to _touch_ Derek to make him feel it slide beneath his skin, echoing a hundred or a thousand times a day, _mine, mine, mine,_ and sending back the same, an endless feedback loop of claiming and love, of desire and hope and strength and _good,_ just beneath the skin.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still figuring out characterizations and pacing, stuff like that with Teen Wolf (haven't even gotten all the way through season one, to be honest), so my sincere apologies if the characters aren't nuanced.
> 
> I want to be very clear that while Stiles _freaks out_ about consent, Derek is absolutely capable of consent throughout the fic. The aura play is just me messing around with energy play concepts and taking them to a paranormal extreme, but Derek isn't forced into anything by the experience. I'm just a lazy author and didn't want to have to figure out how to get him to consent in a way that would tick every consent box for y'all.
> 
> Expect more Heal the TraumaWolf stories out of me, because Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things. You can find me (to shout at me what nice things you want done to Derek, I assume) most often in the TW section of the WriterBuddies Discord server, available here: [WriterBuddies](https://discord.gg/4KWWccK)


End file.
